


all roads lead to this

by dear_universe



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Catra is She-Ra, F/F, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Roleswap, Thanks anon!, Tumblr Prompt, this is maybe my favorite thing i've written so far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_universe/pseuds/dear_universe
Summary: catra found the sword, but she's wondering if maybe she shouldn't have.or: sometimes, the sword doesn't accept she-ra right away.the roleswap au literally one person asked for.





	all roads lead to this

**Author's Note:**

> [reading playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/sethwlloyd/playlist/7AOaKRMnByDzNOERwCcHMC?si=VHVwtqmwSpuPA32MI38M2Q)

The sword was cool and heavy in Catra’s hands. Every time she grabbed it by the hilt, she felt anew the wave of doubt that had washed over her the day she’d found it. When she pulled her hands away, they were blistered, the sick smell of burnt flesh clouding the air.

_ You’re not good enough _ , the sword seemed to say.  _ You don’t deserve this. _

Every time, Catra pushed the thoughts away, bandaged her hands, and kept on going. And yet nothing changed. 

“Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better,” Adora murmured, spreading healing salve across Catra’s palms. 

“That doesn’t help,” Catra snapped, pulling her hands away and replacing her bandages. “It just keeps getting worse.”

“The sword is testing you,” Light Hope said when Catra showed the First One her hands. “In time, you will understand.”

“When?” Catra asked, digging her fingernails into the damaged skin on her palms, numb to the pain, the sword strapped to her back.

“In time,” Light Hope repeated, and would say no more. 

“Every princess faces these kinds of challenges,” Angella assured Catra during war council. 

“I’m not a princess, and neither are you,” Catra pointed out, glaring at the queen.

“You are a princess, Catra, no matter how you may try to deny it,” Angella said, sighing the sigh of someone who has long outlived the mistakes of youth. 

But the sword continued to feel cold and foreign. While the hilt burned her, the blade simply remained unfeeling, a set of closed doors she couldn’t seem to break through. No matter how long Catra held it, the cool metal of the blade remained icy in her palms, refusing to accept her warmth, refusing to acknowledge her as its own. 

Catra wondered if learning more about the sword might help, so she spent hours with Bow’s dads, combing through crumbling scrolls and squinting at ancient writing she shouldn’t be able to read. And yet even when she knew every legend, every piece of lore, every mention of the Sword of Protection, it still wouldn’t acknowledge her. 

And so Catra stopped trying. 

“It’s not that I don’t care anymore,” she huffed as she smashed through several Horde bots, glowing faintly. “It’s just that the more I try, the less it seems to like me.”

“Swords don’t have feelings, Catra.” Adora used a rock wall for leverage and leapt onto a tank, sending sparks up into the air. 

“Well, not  _ like _ me, I guess,” Catra shrugged, stabbing the sword into the processing center of a bot. “Just that it doesn’t accept me as She-Ra.”

“I think it’s great, Catra!” Bow yelled, firing arrow after arrow into the frenzy.

“Whatever works-” Glimmer teleported out of the way of a laser blast midsentence. “-for you!”

Catra smiled and continue to fight, but Adora watched the way she held the sword so carefully, so delicately, and worry found its way into her heart. 

_ Please work _ , Catra thought, feeling the warmth of the hilt even through her bandages, which curled at the edges, beginning to smoke. She was already too weak, too vulnerable, but-  _ Please let this work. I need to help them. Help her.  _

Afterward, surrounded by the wreckage of the battle, Catra strapped the sword to her back and found that the bandages had melded to her palms. She couldn’t feel the burn anymore. It had happened so many times before. 

Catra tried to hide, but Adora saw. She always did. 

The next day, they were in Mystacor.

Adora didn’t tell Catra anything. She hardly ever did. They went to bed together in Bright Moon, and when Catra woke up, she was in an unfamiliar bed, Adora beside her, the window thrown wide open and sunlight streaming in. 

Catra didn’t talk to Adora for three days. 

Not when Adora apologized. Not when she explained. Not when she begged, when she pouted, when she glared and tapped her fingers on the marble windowsill for a solid minute. Catra kept her face impassive and smooth. When Adora placed her hand on Catra’s arm, Catra turned and walked away.

It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, right up there with leaving the Fright Zone and transforming into She-Ra for the first time. 

The transformation had  _ hurt _ , hurt like flames dancing over her skin until she began to smoke, hurt like watching Adora fall to the ground, bright spots of blood appearing as the skin on her knees split open. Hurt like Shadow Weaver’s magic worming its way inside of her, eating away at her heart. Catra had fallen to the ground, heart thumping out of her chest, her yellow eye so swollen she couldn’t see through it. 

And the people who were supposed to be her captors helped her to her feet and cleaned her wounds. They fed her and clothed her and didn’t ask too many questions she didn’t know the answer to, the kind that made her throat itch. They didn’t treat her as an enemy, but as a person. 

They became her friends. 

But first, before them all, there was Adora. Adora with her big blue eyes and soft blonde hair and the scars on her back from when the two of them got in trouble and Adora took the blame. 

So yes, it had hurt to leave the Fright Zone. There were the halls Catra and Adora had run through as kids, the bed they shared, the locker room where they had their first kiss. There was their squadron, who got bandages for Adora’s back and covered for Catra when she got sick and drew silly pictures for both of them after meetings with Shadow Weaver. 

But then, there was the room where Shadow Weaver hurt them over and over, no matter what they did, no matter how hard they tried. 

And there was the future, shining beyond the Whispering Woods. 

So then, maybe it wasn’t so hard to leave after all. 

On their first night at Bright Moon, Adora was curled around Catra, fists clenched. 

“They might forgive us.” Her eyes darkened. “They’ll forgive you.”

The unspoken words hung in the air. 

_ Shadow Weaver will do anything to get you back. _

Adora didn’t have a purpose at Bright Moon, not like she’d had with the Horde. She missed the sense of direction it gave her, even if it was the wrong direction. Even though she still had to sleep on her stomach, after all these years. 

“If you leave, I’ll go with you,” Catra had said.  _ I’ll protect you. _ “But I want you to stay here. With me.”

And so Adora pulled the covers over them, and she stayed.

Their first night in Mystacor, Catra and Adora slept on opposite sides of the bed for the first time since they were seven. Not that it mattered. Catra woke tangled in Adora’s arms and pulled away before the other girl woke. Neither of them mentioned it. 

The second night, as they lay there listening to each others’ breathing, Catra found her girlfriend’s hand beneath the covers and laced her fingers through Adora’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Adora whispered. “I shouldn’t have chosen for you. Next time I’ll ask first.” 

Catra didn’t respond, but she fell asleep with a smile on her face. For the first time in months, she wasn’t thinking about the sword, stowed safely beneath her bed. She wasn’t thinking about anything at all. 

Their third night in Mystacor, Catra broke. Adora had apologized, and honestly? Catra liked Mystacor. It had begun to feel less temporary and more permanent. More like home. 

Castaspella, Glimmer’s chatty aunt, knit them sweaters. She showed them around the various bathhouses and the beach, and pointed out her favorite pastries in the cafeteria. She gave them hugs goodnight. She filled the space in their hearts that had never been filled before.

When Catra itched at the Horde symbol burning on her back, there was a new closet full of clothes waiting for her. When Adora got hungry at 4 am, there was food down the hall. When old memories got dredged up, there was something bright and shining and new to help push them away. 

It was everything they’d ever wanted and didn’t know they were allowed to have.

And so, the third night, Catra turned and wrapped her arms around Adora’s back, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. 

“I’m sorry too,” she mumbled. “I’ve been focusing so much on my stupid sword, I’ve been ignoring you.”

Adora shook her head. “Your life doesn’t revolve around me.”

“You know I love you, right?” Catra said. 

Adora melted. “I love you too.” 

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and when Catra woke up, her arm around Adora’s waist and her head on Adora’s shoulder, she didn’t move away. She gently shook Adora awake and led her down to what had become her favorite place on Mystacor. 

Catra sat on the beach with her girlfriend, the clouds rolling over the sand, color slowly overtaking the pearly gray sky. Dressed in pajamas with sleep-mussed hair, her sword strapped to her back, she felt less like a princess than ever before. 

And yet, when she lifted the sword from her back and held it gently by the blade, it warmed to her touch. 

Catra carefully pulled away from Adora and walked down the beach, grabbing the sword by the hilt and holding it aloft. 

“For the honor of Grayskull!”

A tingling sensation spread throughout her body. It wasn’t the burn of every time before; rather, it was a soft warmth, like the sun rising over the beach, casting light across Adora’s face. A sense of rightness. 

Her first thought was:  _ it doesn’t hurt _ . 

Catra looked down at herself and, for the first time, she saw She-Ra. 

Tapered white pants, with stripes of gold running down the sides. A fitted white top with golden shoulder guards and a sweetheart neckline embossed with gold. Steel-toed boots. Long, flowing hair. And-

“Catra,” Adora breathed, staring in awe. “You look… beautiful.” 

“I look like me.”

The sword didn’t like Catra when Catra didn’t like herself. And now…

Catra finally felt whole again. 

The war wasn’t over; it had barely begun. But honest to God, Catra was, she finally admitted to herself, a fucking princess. 

And she knew they would win in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! this may be one of my favorite things i've ever written haha. if you liked it, drop a comment or come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://catralovesgirls.tumblr.com/)!!! nothing makes me happier than getting to hear from you guys <3
> 
> have a lovely day!


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